The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on November 24, 1897 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

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Wednesday, November 24, 1897
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UPPER DE8 M01NEB: ALGONA IOWA, WBDNESBAY NOyJBMBEtt24, J89? L INTERNATIONAL PRESS ASSOCIATION. CHAPTER IX.— She ceased her tirade, and stood gaz- jng keenly at Marjorie, who sat stilt, listening in wonder. Despite her sharp tone and brusque manner, there was a tenderness in her tone that could not be mistaken. Then, all at once, with the abruptness peculiar' to her, she changed her tone again, and broke into a low, chuckling laugh. "And now I hae preach'd my sermon," she said, with her grim smtlc, •'hae you had breakfast? Will you tak' jorae tea?" But Marjorie had breakfasted before starting, and wanted nothing. "Very well. Come and walk ir. the garden." She led the way from the room, and Marjorie quietly followed. Passing out by the rear of the house ITOSS a lonely court yard, they reached a door in the high wall, and entered the garden—a wilderness of fruit trees, shrubs, and currant bushes, sadly in need of the gardener's hand. Tangled creepers and weeds grew over the grassy paths. Here and there were seats, and in one corner was an arbor almost burled in umbrage. It was a desolate, neglected place, but the HUH was shining, and the air was bright and warm. Mfss Hetherington took her companion's arm and walked slowly from path Lo path. "The garden's! like its mistress," she said presently, "lonesome and neglectlt. Since Wattle Henderson died, I hae never employed a regular gardener. But it's bonny in summer time, for a' that, and I like it. wild as it is. I should like weel to be burled here, right in the heart o' the auld place!" She entered the neglected arbor end sat down wearily. Marjorie stood looking at her in timid sympathy, while she pursued the dreary current of her thought. ''Folk say I'm mean, and maybe I am; but it's no that! I'm the last o' the Hotheringtons, and it's right and litting that the place should waste awa' like rnysel'. But I mind the time weel —it's no sae lang syne—when it was gladsome and merry. Everything was in grand order then, and my father kept open house to the gentry. Now a's changed! Whiles I wonder what will become o' the auld house when I'm ta'ou. Strangers will come, maybe, uml turn it upside doon. What would you 3ae, Marjorie Annan, if you were a rich didn't like the turn the conversatiim was taking; "and she has many true frienda." "Yourself among the number, I am sure!" said Caussidiere quickly. "You are right there, at any rate," returned Sutherland; and he added coldly, "I'll wish you good-night." He stood before the gat", of his father's cottage and held out his hand; the frenchman, however, did not attempt to lake it, but kept his own hands in his coat pockets as he returned a polite ' Uood-night." ting pleasantly together, when Solomon Mucklebackit, who had been up to Uifc village on some household errand, quietly entered. "Johnnie Sutherland's at the door. Will you see him'?" Marjorie started, for she hr.d tin Instinctive dread of a meeting between the two young men; but thu minister tit once replied: "Show him in, Solomon;" and as the sexton disappeared, he said to his ;;uest, "A young friend of ours, and a schoolfellow of my foster-daughter." The next moment Sutherland appeared. A look of surprise passed over his face as he saw the stranger, who rose politely, but, recovering himself, ho shook the minister warmly by the hand. "Welcome, Johnnie," said Mr. Lorraine. "Take a seal. Do you know Monsieur Caussidiere? Then let rue introduce you." Sutherland nodded to r,he Frenchman, who bowed couAeously. Their eyes met, and then both looked at Marjorie. "Monsieur Caussldiero is my French teacher," she said smiling. Sutherland looked somewhat puzzled, and sat down in silence. After an awkward pause, the minister began questioning > him on his London experiences; he replied almost in monosyllables, and was altogether so bashful and constrained that Marjorie could not avoid drawing an unfavorable comparison in her own mind between him and the fluent Frenchman. "An artist, monsieur?" said the latter, presently, having gathered the fact from some of Mr. Lorraine's questions. "I used to paint, when I was a boy, but, finding 1 could not excel, I abandoned the attempt. To succeed in your leddy and mistress o' a place like this?" The question came so abruptly at tho end of tho long string of lamentations, that Marjorie scarcely knew what to reply. She smiled awkwardly, and repeated the question. ".What would .1 do, Miss Hcthering- tou?" "Ay. Come!" "I cannot tell, but I don't Ihink I nould bear to live here all alone." "Ay, indeed? Would you sell the Castlo, and pooch the siller?" "No. Miss Hctherlugtpn. I should like to keep what my forebears had owned." Tho lady nodded her head approvingly. ' "Tho lassie has sense after a ! she exclaimed. "Ay ay, Marjorie, you're right! It's something to belang to the line o' the I-Ietheringtons.and the auld lairds o' the Moss would rise in their graves if they kenned that stranger.-) were dwelling on the land." CHAPTER X. AR'LY In tho afternoon, after a dismal lunch, tfite-a- tete with Miss Hetherington, Marjorie returned homo across tho fields. The sun was ju^t beginning to sink as she p us s ed through the village and approached the i manse. As she did so, she saw Mr. I Lorraine standing inside the church; yard gate in quiet conversation with \ the French teacher. She entered the churchyard and i joined sithem, the Frenchman saluting Uer with lifted hat as she approached. "Ah, Marjorie, my bairn," said ilie |.minister, Vyou are home early. Did walk back? 1 thought you would [have stayed later, and that Miss Hotli- | jngtoui would have sent ypu home In [ the carriage after gloaming." Marjorie glanced at Causdi-liare, and [ met his eyes. 'She did not wish me to istay," she j answered, "and I was glad to escape. [ But I see you and Monsieur Cauadidlero have made friends. I mei l:Im un the way, and ho said he was coining here." "So lie has told me," said Mr. Lorraine. "1 have just been showing him ; over the kirk and through the graveyard, and now I have invited him lo •take pot-luck, as the Kugliwh call it, ; this evening." "But it is so late, monsieur," said |.Marjorie. "How will you get back to |: Dumfries?" "Did you not know?" returned the ^Frenchman, smiling. "I am taking a fleet'.* holiday, like yourself! ! have engaged a bed at the inn, and shall not return till the beginning of th& week." They entered the manse together, and tCftussidiere joined them at their sim- fple evening meal. When tea was over they sat round (the hearth. The minister lit hla pipo lane, his guest cv cigar. They were chat- profession is the labor of a life, and, alas! so many fail." "That's true enough," returned Sutherland, "and when I sec the great pictures, I despair." "Ho paints beautifully, monsieur," cried Marjorie, eager to praise her friend. "Does ho not, Mr. Lorraine?" The minister nodded benignly. "Ah, indeed," said Caussidiere, with a slight yawn. "The landscape, monsieur, or the human figure?" "I have tried both," replied Sutherland. "I think 1 like figure painting best." "Then you shall not go far to find a subject," exclaimed Caussidiere, waving bis hand toward Marjorie. "Ah, if I wore an artist, I would like to paint mademoiselle. 1 have seen such a face, such eyes, and hair, in some of the Ma- donnas of the great Raphael." Marjorie cast down her eyes, then raised them again, laughing. He has painted me, and more than once; but I'm thinking he flattered the sitter. Miss Hetherington has one of the pictures up at the Castle." Caussidiere fixed his eyes suspiciously upon Sutherland. "Do you work for pleasure, monsieur, or for profit? Perhaps you are a man of fortune, and paint for amusement only?" The question tickled the minister, who laughed merrily. "I am only a poor man," answered Sutherland, "and paint for my bread." "It is an honorable occupation," sa.id Caussidiere, emphatically, though not without the suspicion of a covert sneer. "At one time the artist was neglected and despised; now ho is honored for hJs occupation, and can make much money." The conversation continued by fits and starts, but Sutherland's appearance seemed to have quite destroyed the gay freedom of the little party. At last CHAPTER XL HE next day was Sunday,the solemn, not to say sanctimonious Sabbath day of that peoplo which, above all others, reverences the great work of creation. In the brightest place In the. church, with her r.uroole round her, sat Marjorie Annan; and three pairs of eyes at least wcc.i constantly fixed upon her. The first i'.air belonged to young Sutherland, tho -second to the French visitor, tho third lo the eccentric mistress of Hetherington Castle. Of these three Individuals Caussidiere was the most 111 at ease. Tho sermon bored him, aiul he yawned again and air&in, finally going to sleep. Le was awakened by a lou-1 nolso v.nd looking round him, h« saw Uic congregation moving toward the. door, ana Solomon Mucklebackit, from the precentor's desk, glaring down at him in indignation. Ho rose languidly, and jjined tho stream of people Issuing from the church. Out in tho churchyard the sun was shining golden on the graves. At th« gate several vehicles were waiting, including tho brougham from Hflthorlns- ton Castle. As Caussidiere moved down the path, be saw before him a small group of persona conversing—the blind weaver and his wife, John Sutherland, Marjorie. and the lady of the Castle, lie passed by them with lifted hat, nnd moved on to the gate, where he waited. "Who's yon?" asked Miss IloUier- ington, following him with her dark "That is Monsieur Caussidicru," answered Marjorie, "my French readier." "Humph!" said the lady. "Come awa' and introduce me." She walked slowly down the path, while Marjorie followed in astonishment, and coming right up to the Frenchman, she looked him deliberately over from head to foot. Not at all disconcerted, he took off his hat again, and bowed politely. "Monsieur Caussidiere," saM Marjorie, "this is Miss Hclheringtcm, of the L'astle." Caussidiere bowed again wiai groat resipect. "1 am charmed to make niadr.me s acquaintance." To his astonishment, Miss Hot.lierin.g- ton addressed him in his own tongue, which she spoke fluently, though with an unmistakable Scottish inilodkir.. "You speak English well, monsieur," she said. "Have you been long absent from your native land?" "Ever sinco the crime of December, he returned, also in French. "But madame Is almost a Frenchwoman- she speaks the language to admiration. Ah, it is a pleasure lo me, an exile, to hear the beloved tongue of France so perfectly spoken! You know France? You have lived there, madame?" "I know it, and know little good of it," cried the lady sharply. "Are you like the rest, of your countrymen, light and treacherous, believing in nothing that is good, spending their lives in vanity and sensual pleasure?" (TO UB CONTISUBU. I Solomon reappeared and grimly announced that it was nine o'clock. "We keep early hours," explained Mr. Lorraine, "and are all abed at ten o'clock." "Then I will go," cried Causiiidiere, rising, "but 1 shall call again. It is not often in Scotland, one finds such pleas- But why do 1 keep Thanksgiving, Did I hear you aright, my dear? Why? When I'm all alone in life, Not a chick nor a child to be near, John's folks all away In the west, Lucy across the sea, And not a soul In the dear old homo Save & little bound girl and me? It does look lonesome, I grant It; Yet strange as the thing may sound, I'm seldom In want of company The whole of the merry year round— There's spring when tho lilac blossoms, And the apple trees blush to bloom, There's summer when great moths flit and glance Yhrough the twilight's star-lit gloom. Then comes the beautiful autumn, When every fragrant brier. Flinging Its garlands on fonco and wall, Is bright as a living fire; And then the white, still winter time, When the snow lies warm on the wheat, And I think of the days that have passed away, When niy life was yoimc and sweet. I'm a very happy woman Today, though my hair Is white, For some ot my troubles I've overlived, And some I keep out ot sight. I'm a busy' old woman, you see, my dear, As I travel along life's road, I'm always trying as best I c»n To lighten my neighbor's load. That child? You should think she'd try me? Does she earn her bread and salt? You've noticed she's sometimes Indolent, And indolence is a fault; Of course it is, but the orphan girl Is growing as fast as she can, And to make her work from dawn to dark Was never a part of my plan. I like to see the dimples Flash out on tue little faco. That was wan enough, and still enough When first she came to the place. 1 think she'll do, when she's older; A kitten is not a cat; And now that I look at the thing, my dear, I hope she'll never be that. I'm thankful that life is peaceful; I should just lie sick of strife, If, for instance, I had to live along Like poor Job Slocum'u wife; I'm thankful 1 didn't nay "yes," my dear— What saved me I do not see— When Job, with a sprig in his buttonhole, Once came a-courtlng me. I'm thankful I'm neither poor nor rich, Glad that I'm not in debt; That I owe no money 1 cannot pay, And so hrive no call to fret. I'm thankful so many love mo, And that I've so many to love, Though my dearest and nearest are all at home, In the beautiful land above. I fthall always keep Thanksgiving In tho good-old fashioned way, And think of the reasons for gratitude In December, and June, and May, Sn August, November, and April, And the months that come between; For God is good, and my heart Is light, And I'd not change place with a queen, —Margaret E. Sangster. neglected doing it, but t had with mi i couple of good revolvers. "I pushed the canoe from shore, and In a few minutes was gliding over the rippling waters of tho Flatnbleatti.wlth no care of what the journey might bring. For over half an hout- I kept my course down the river. The moon had shone brightly until then, and was only occasionally hidden by a feW dark clouds. A cold wind came up from the northeast and then 1 had some fears of the storm that had threatened all day. fie clouds came thick and fast and with them rain, at first only a few drops, but finally ftn Icy rain which was driven by tho terrible force of the wind. With the storm came lightning and I soon saw It would be folly to go further. I endeavored to turn my canoe toward shore, but the storm had changed into a young tempest, and to stay long on the waters In that craft meant death. I drifted on at a fearful rate, and I also noticed that the current ot the river seemed swifter than I had noticed it before. "While thus engaged a new sound fell upon my ears. It was a dull, deep roar, and every moment It seemed to Increase. The water flowed more swiftly, and the roaring ahead of me became deafening. I knew too well what It was. My boat dashed madly forward, and I wan entering rapids. How largo they wero I did not know, for the country was comparatively new 1 was soon on earth again, t crawled a rod of so away, and theft waited for daylight. "As the first gray light of Morning lit the eastern sky 1 turned my head toward What might hate been tay grave. It was A circular hole, about teft feet in diameter. I could see the Water abotit fifteen feet below. I thought of the lynx and the terrible but Just fate he had met, and then creeping to shore 1 got into my canoe, and casting one look behind me on that ous shore, I turned my back on It fot*i ever, and turned my face toward camp-! "This is my experience of a thanks-:. giving day that makes the day one i of . thanks to me— thankful for my llfft." I ant company." Caussidiere shook the minister's hand cordially, and favored Marjorie with a warm and lingering pressure, which left her more disturbed than ever. Then the two men walked out ot the house together. Caussidiere and Sutherland walked up the village side by side in the light of the moon, which was then at the full. "You are a native of this place, mui.- sieur?" said tho Frenchman, afte.- a long silence. "Yes," was the quiet reply. "A 'charming place! and the people still more charming! You have knovvn our old friend a long, long time?" ••Hver since I can mind." And his daughter—his fostor-duugh- I should say? I have heard her story; it is romantic, monsieur; it touches my heart. Do you think her pretty?" Sutherland started at the question, which was made with apparent nonchalance, but in reality with eager suspicion. He was silent, and the other continued: "She is not like one of common birth; she has the grace of a lady. I was struck with her elegance when jihe first '"' ' " Itcttnr Left llnsaUI. Two giggling girls pushed their way into the crowded car. The one was pretty, and knew it; while the other wasn't, and' didn't seem to know it. After a great deal of squeezing that almost took their breath away, they at last reached the front part of the car. They kept up their giggling until a man who was trying to read in the corner seat got up In di&gust and went out on the front platform. Although they both wanted to sit down, neither wished to deprive the other of the seat. "You take it, dear," said the pretty one. "I wouldn't enjoy it at all If I knew you were standing," replied the other. Then they began giggling again. At last, when another woman rushed up to take it, the pretty girl shoved l.er friend into the seat, saying: "The first thing we know we'll lose it. Besides, my dear, it's better for you to take it, because I'm more likely to have a seat offered me." The homely girl stopped giggling and turned red in the face, and when her friend got out about a mile beyond she never as much as bade her good-bye. THANKSGIVING STORY dulging in stories. T was Thanksgiving evening in oui camp on the Flara- bleaux rlver.in the northern part of the Badger state. After a dinner uuch as can only ba gotten up in camp, we had seated ourselves about the fire and wore in- Fiually one of our I HUNG ON WITH BOTH HANDS, to mo, I dropped my paddle into the bottom of the boat and hung on with both hands. How I ever got through alive I don't know for as I viewed the rapids the next morning they were the worst I had ever seen on medium sized rivers. The foam dashed over me, and my canoe grazed scores of rocks. Then I heard the roaring far behind, and I found myself in tolerably smooth water, but I didn't care about running any more chances that night, and took to tho northeast bunk, which was on my left. My canoe grated on tho sand and with a feeling of safety I stepped my foot on shore. "As I did so the woods for rods around seemed to tremble, I knew what it was. The river at this point widened Into a lake, over tho left side of which was a floating Island, that is, a projection of the mainland over the lake. Tho roots of tho trees wero closely woven together and a good quantity of soil was packed in between. I had heard many stories concerning these islands, but hardly credited them. "I gathered a good quantity of wood together and started a fire, and sitting down on the wet ground tried to make myself as comfortable as possible. Overcome by the exhaustion I had experienced 1 lay down and was soon asleep. How long I slept Is hard to say, but It must have been about an houi 1 "I was awakened, and gazing about, darkness, yes, the darkness ot an Egyptian night, met my eyes. A noise, at first very faint, disturbed the silence. It was llko that of a crying child, but I bad heard It before; it was the whining of a lynx. I drew one of my revolvers and laid very quiet. The noise grew louder and I heard the fiend creeping upon me. My nerves gave way to my first Impulse and I fired in THANKSGIVING EVE* Hand in hand through the vlllagt streets, As tho chill November twilight fell, Two childish figures walk up and down— The bootblack Teddle and slater Nell. With wistful eyes they peer in the shops, Where dazzling the lights from the windows shine On golden products from farm and field, And luscious fruits from every clime, "Oh, Teddlo," said Nell, "let's play tonight These things are ours, and let's suppose Wo can choose whatever we want to eat. It might come true, perhaps—who knows?" Two little pinched faces press the pane, And plan for tomorrow's feast Of dainties their lips will never to«'.ch, Forgetting their hunger awhile, at least. The pavement was cold for the shoeless feet, Ted's Jacket was thin; he shivered and said, "Let's go to a place and choose soma clothes." "Agreed!" said Nell, and away they sped To a furrier's shop, ablaze,with light, In whoso fancied warmth they plac« their hand:;, And play their scanty garments ar« changed For softest fur, from far-off "A grand Thanksgiving we'll Uavo!" cried Noll, "These rauke-belleve things seem almost true; I've most forgot how hungry I was, And, Teddlo, I'm almost warm, aren'l you?" Oh, happy hearts, they rejoice today, In all the bounty tho season brings, Have pity on those who vainly strive • To be warmed and fed by imaginings! ter. An came to me for lessons. Poor child! TO have neither father nor mother, to be a castaway! It is very sad." "She is happy and sturdily answered Sutherland, who Father— In asking for the hand of my daughter, young man, I trust that you fully realize the exact value of the prize you seek? Prospective Sbn-in- Law— Well— er— I hadn't fgured it quite so close as that, but I guessed it at about 1500,000.— San Francisco Examiner. number, a young man, remarked that the day was always one of thanksgiving to him, and in explanation of this rnmark. related the following story: "I had been out three days with a. party of Chicago people, and on the day in question we wore camped about thirteen miles away from even a game warden, and I can say we had phenomenally good luck. It was the open season for deer, and we had already killed two fine bucks. The day had been a busy one in camp, in making preparations to move down stream, perhaps ten miles or more. My intention Paper Defiance. Foreman— Why doesn't the ' editor lor," flnlsh this editorial on "Let 'Amerjca Pefy the World?" It's only half done. Assistant—Oh, be got scared a while ago and ran out at the back door, and beea back sijice, A wad scjlber •ca.me had been to move in that direc- 'tlon early in the afternoon In a light canoe, just to get on to the lay of the land. Heavy, leaden clouds had hung low all day and everything acted like one of those late electrical storms that often pass through the northwest as a gentle reminder that we had one last chance of bidding gopd-by to Indian summer. Had the weather not cleared I might have changed my mind about making the move I did make. Leaving instructions that w? would all start In the early hours of morning, i went down to the shore and stepped into my canoe. I had with pie my-usual supply o? matches and othor incidentals. The moon ehone out BO clearly over the r ipp)ing water that I did not mind the forebodings ojE rain, that wavwed me. I did not tbialf It was neeessjwy to take ir heavy. c&Ubee AN AWFUL CRASH FOLLOWED. the direction of the sound. A moment later aud there was a quick spring and the beast lit upon my shoulders. "Over and over we rolled. I felt the ground tremble, and an awful crash followed. The lynx loosened his hold, perhaps from fear, and I clutched wildly about me, My hands came in contact with a root I grabbed it and swung backward and forward for, it seemed to me, an ago. Tho waters beneath me seemed to boll, and then all was still, a stillness that was more terrible than death. I Imrd a pattering in the water beneath roe and remembered the lyux. With a supernatural effort I swung myself upward, and, by clutching J»y feet on the roots an,d The old wife sat In the chimney plac« Talking of days gone by To the small granddaughter close al her knee, Eager and bright of eye. "And only think," she finished, "de«r, That sad Thanksgiving morn All that the Pilgrims bad to eat Was, each one, five grains of corn." Out trom his corner grandfather Put in a quavering word: "You're wrong, Priscllla Ann, you'r* wrong, 'Twa« six, I've always heard." "Pshaw, father, you've forgotten it. No. child, 'twas only five." "Priscllla Ann, I say 'twas six, As sure as you're alive!" " 'Twa'n't six!" " 'Twaa, too!" "Why, father!" "Well, I ain't so old, I guess, But what I know 'twas six!" "Oh, land, What silly foolishness!" "Priscilla Ann!" "Yes, father!" "Slxl* The small granddaughter stared, Then, crying, ran away. "There, no'ff, You've got the poor lamb scared!" "I hain't!" "You have!" Here ww begun , 6 A very pretty quarrel, But that their daughter came In haati To hear and point a moral. •Why, father! mother! quarreling, And on Thanksgiving Day! And all about a grain of corn; That's foolish, don't you say?" The old folks looked abashed. " 'Twai six!" "'Twas five!" "Why, no, 'twai four!" And then it really looked as though "i'would all begin once more. Till grandma, gulping down her wrath Said, "Well, they hadn't many; But, sakes alive! if they hadn't five, I'd thankful they had any," —Florence E. Pratt. Btgnes protruding ICiW the Sld« ot the Wo need all the social agents are to lift us out of the dally routlni of life; music is one of these factors Parents who fall to cultivate where evident the musical gifts of their dren, deprive them and through; then; the coming generations of that rnoraj and intellectual agency whicb is thei} due.— F. Royle. mea m#ke a 'bluff at their light uQder a fcus.he.1, whe» » measure would answer the ft» Veil. . juj| >Z$£^^^ ».*.. * ^.

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